Boundless
by unsedated
Summary: Even the skies cannot fathom how deep their love will run. A collection of prompts.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: I do not own Downton Abbey. If I do, I'll have Matthew Crawley all by myself.**

_Hello. Welcome to Boundless. I have been unbelievably addicted to this series, and this collection is a way of letting out my feelings. I will explode if I don't. I hope you enjoy._

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**Prompt: Nighttime**

The hounds are after her again.

Her suitors cannot be blamed. She is a beautiful woman, albeit a widow, and a powerful one as assured by her beloved Matthew. She will not want for anything she cannot attain. Her engagement to any man will be pivotal for anyone she chooses. They have been persuading her with gifts – golds and silvers and gems that tinkered when sunlight streams from the window. They have been praising her youthfulness, from the silken nature of her hair to the alabaster pale of her skin.

But her heart does not yearn for their words or their devotion. She wants it from Matthew – only Matthew.

At night, she slips on her nightgown and sits on the bed, brushing the creaseless sheets and the plump pillows. She has long abandoned her side of the bed. Instead, she crawls to where Matthew used to rest, imagining the golden halo of his head and the warmth of his body. If she closes her eyes, she can still imagine the paleness of his skin and the marks that littered his torso, the narrowness of his hips and the strength of his thighs. He was – _is, my dear_ – a sight to behold, and she will take all the stars that light the heavens just to have him with her again.

As she buries her small body with the blanket, she can still feel his roughened hands hold the ball of her shoulder, keeping her against his chest. She can still hear the thudding against his ribcage, a lullaby sung even upon her waking hours. She would have kissed him where she felt the pulsations, lips brushing from the site to his nipples, up to the expanse of his pectorals, to the hollow of his neck, to the angle of his jaw, to the pink of his lips. In her youth, she appeared cold and uncaring, but with Matthew she melted into a loving woman.

Sometimes, tears escape her eyes – the first weeks after his death; the times she visited his grave; when George first walked; when their boy first called her Mama when it would probably have been Papa; whenever a new suitor comes; when she first kissed another man months after his death; when she rejected her first suitor's offer of marriage after his death; when Tom came to her on the anniversary of Sybil's death; on every anniversary of his death; on every birthday he will never have; when Granny succumbed to old age, then her father, his mother, her mother, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore; when George first invited a girl – _she's a nurse, Mama, and a brilliant one. I wish to marry her and love her wholeheartedly for the rest of my days—_

_My love, you have missed a lot. _

She heard of the story of Queen Victoria, whose husband, Prince Albert, died due to typhoid fever at the age of 42. In their story, the queen has asked for his bed clothes to be prepared for every night until she died. For Mary, she will always have her stuffed dog – their lucky charm, the one that brought them through war and epidemic – on the bedside table. Every night, she whispers her prayers.

_Watch over us, my love._

Before she succumbs to her dreams, she will always whisper _I love you, terribly so _to the spaces between her body and the sheets, and the wind usually whispers back s_o do I, darling. So do I._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who read the first prompt. For the second one, I wrote about one of my favorite scenes in DA. I 've always found it hilarious, not matter how many times I watch it. Enjoy!_

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**Prompt: "I got my heart's desire, and there my troubles began." ― Lev Grossman, _The Magicians_**

The first time he saw her, he was stunned.

As much as he despised the idea of marrying one of his distant cousins for their immediate family to secure Downton Abbey – their home for as long as they've walked on earth, his objections had become futile. She strode in to their home, head held high and expression steeled with politeness. A true-born lady, bred from the moment she left her mother's tomb. He could read indignation in her pursed lips, her courtesy in her straightened shoulders and spine, and her hatred in her invisibly twitching eyebrow. With her expression, he reckoned she heard his opinion about their current situation, and was furious and taken aback.

Then she spoke to them, displaying the flourish of her upbringing. She had enough grace not to pay him attention. As her lips parted, he reckoned the heavens began to open the skies in an outpour of beauty. She was undeniably most beautiful. He felt his heart jump to his throat, his jaw dropping in command, and his eyes widening. He looked like a fool, but he could care less.

From his previous thoughts, his mind shifted to a possible future, where the woman – _Cousin Mary _– would walk down the aisle and he would be manning its end. No matter how bedraggled he imagined her, she would forever be marked in his thoughts as a goddess. From a coat, she was projected in his mind as a vision in white, the veil hindering him from the expression in her face.

_Good Lord, she is one of my hosts and I've insulted her and her family. She must despise me truly. Yet, make her my bride and I shall forever be held captivated._

_"You're far too busy, and I do not want to push in," _she said, her eyes pointedly gazing at him. He could feel her eyes searing his mind, ready to pry him open to show how he is not crafted for this life.

When she turned, her skirt fluttered against the grace manifested in her steps. God, he kept on preaching to his mother about the lack of necessity of the wealth which he may someday gain that his prejudice towards the aristocratic echelon of society was oversimplified. What kind of a man is he, to insinuate such incredulity without shame? His mother taught him better than that. He was supposed to be a gentleman. Swallowing what is left of his pride, he willed his legs to move, dashing down the hall to the walkway out of their house.

She was perched elegantly on her horse, her simple words to her company more commanding than he can muster. This woman was made to be Lady Grantham, and not even him being heir-presumptive can stop her. He could carry the storm with him, shaking Downton to its core, but Lady Mary Crawley will always prevail.

"_Of course, and I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke."_

He would envision what trouble he got himself in.


	3. Chapter 3

_To everyone who read the previous prompt, you have my warmest thanks. I hope you enjoy this one._

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**Prompt: Mary, in Tom's perspective**

From the moment Tom Branson met Lady Mary Crawley, he has been aware of how formidable she is.

The staff downstairs (with the exception of Anna and Mr. Carson) described her to be cold and calculating, heartless and haughty, willful and proud. She is, after all, eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, destined to be married to the most eligible bachelor mad enough to take on the Dowager Countess, the Earl himself, and the Countess. If he were to be honest, her astuteness and grace could rival princesses. There will only be a few men who would be taken by her on a whim. Those few would be grovelling on her home's carpeted floors by the moment she flashes them her smile.

(Except for him, of course, and a smart few. Tom has enough sense and _enough_ _scorn_ for aristocracy to not be attracted by her.)

But then Matthew Crawley entered the picture, and every single notion of Lady Mary's – _call her Mary, _Matthew once told him – heartlessness was debunked.

He could still remember the mornings when he drove her to the village hospital, dressed plainly in blues and grays, her face a mask of determination. Her hands clamped her embroidered purse, her knuckles stretching against tensed muscle. If one looked at her from the window, they would mistake her expression for indifference, but her fears and worries bursted at the seams in her barely moving figure.

She used to visit Mr. Crawley religiously, staying by his bedside and wiping the remnants of war from his skin. Once, Lady Grantham instructed him to bring food for Mary and Sibyl, and not once had Mary's eyes strayed from Matthew's prone figure, an image of death warmed over.

Mary painted a vivid image of heartbreak for him. Even as a chauffeur, he is not without knowledge of how emotions work, and had been aware of the tortuous rides when Mary would be home from her visit to Sir Carlisle or when being at home meant seeing Matthew and Lavinia together. Tom would observe her ladyship from the side mirror and would find her eyes swimming in tears.

When he and Sybil ran away, the woman had passionately rallied for her youngest sister, and had seen how affectionate she really is. She held everything in control, even when their father steered the reins. She fought tooth and nail for them, and had promised to be eternally loyal to their cause.

When he asked her why, she simply said, _Love should never be denied._

He had his fair share of memories of Matthew also, but what struck him most was the night they sat by the fireplace after he and Mary got into an argument about the man's inheritance. _You_ _won't be_ _happy_ _with anyone else as_ _long as Lady Mary walks the earth, __he told the man. _Never had he spoken truer words about their relationship.

Matthew and Mary are made of push and pulls, ups and downs, cycle after cycle where love can never be eliminated. They loved – _love –_ each other so much, so dearly, so vibrantly. He would forever be in debt of their support upon the death of his dear Sybil – of how Mary stood by him and his daughter, and how Matthew ushered him under his wing so that his life would be directed again. He was witness to their goodness and their strength. If Mary was formidable alone, then with Matthew, they are the raging storm of change. They created things so beautifully; they would have surpassed her parents.

He became one of Mary's dearest friends upon Matthew's death, both with shared grievances for losing their other halves. He watched Mary as she naturally reached her caring hands to their children, nurturing them to become brave and considerate, willful and wise, humble and forgiving. She never married, no matter how many men came after her, instead focusing her energies to the improvement of Downton and the rearing of the children.

When she passed on, Lord George Crawley was more than prepared to face the music.

The night of her death, Tom stayed with Mary together with their children. Early in the night, her head remained restless against the pillow and her limbs thrashed in pain. George insisted on looking after her, catching his mother's frail hands against his larger ones. Her eyes opened, gazing back at the boy, and Tom was sure that the blue of George's eyes wasn't the same blue she's seeing. It was one of the few times when he saw Mary show a true smile.

It was Matthew's name that escaped her cracked lips when the last breath left her body.

They buried her beside Matthew. Sybbie placed fresh primroses between their graves. George whispered his prayer. Tom brushed tears on his cheeks. Among the four of them – he, Sybil, Matthew, and Mary, he is the last man standing.

When he gazed at the edge of the graveyard, he swore he could imagine Matthew – the young country solicitor who triumphed war and paralysis – waiting for the enthusiastic Mary who was running without a care in the world, his arms open wide. When she was safely in his embrace, Matthew mouthed by her ear _welcome home, my love._


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: I still don't own Downton Abbey. I also don't own the song featured in this prompt.**

_You readers are lovely. Thank you so much._

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**Prompt: Lullaby**

Midnight always finds Matthew Crawley alone in their bed.

The ritual began the night after his wife and son went home from the hospital. Before, he thought his son – George – only demanded his mother's attention for feeding, and that Mary has attachment issues after bearing the son they almost never had. They could have easily let the nurse maid attend to their son's needs, but his wife could be relentless when she wants to. To deprive her of the chance to bond with their son would be futile.

He followed the familiar path to their son's nursery, the connecting door from the master's suit left open. His bare feet, cushioned by the carpeted floor, carried him to his family, guided by the sweet, familiar voice that he would never tire to hear.

_Someone within my heart to build a throne-_

Matthew leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed against his chest. He watched as Mary held their little boy against her bosom, heads of brown against the other. Hers cascaded around them like a waterfall; Matthew's hands ached to part them for a full view.

He was transported to a night three years ago, during a concert for the wounded soldiers who were brought to Downton Abbey. He remembered being guided by the same voice that floated from the partly open door of the library, ringing against the emptiness of the hall. He did not anticipate Mary – sweet, darling Mary with heart so bountiful in her masked indifference – leading the crowd. Warmth engulfed him the moment his eyes laid on her that night, sweeping the coldness of the trenches to the recesses of his mind. Even with their distance, she was able to quench his fears. It didn't matter that she was not his or he was not hers then.

That was their night. That is their song.

_If you were the only girl in the world-_

"_And I were the only boy_," he joined, closing the space between him and his family.

Mary looked up, eyes wide and glinting in happiness.

_I would say such wonderful things to you-_

"_There would be such wonderful things to do," _They sang together, filling the lines they were unable to sing the time they performed in front of family and friends. They finished the song with a flourish, with Matthew bowing and Mary curtsying back.

"Edith was right. It does sound better with a man for some of the parts," Mary mused, placing a tender kiss on their son's forehead. Carefully, she placed him back to his crib, fussing over the covers and ensuring that he's tucked in for the night.

They watched as George's abdomen rose and fall with every breath, pink lips parted and face a picture of peace. Matthew reached for Mary's hand, raising it to his lips.

"It's the only song he falls asleep listening to," Mary remarked.

"A very significant song for a special boy. How fitting," Matthew smiled. Mary reached her free hand to his face, her thumb brushing the scars he acquired from the war.

"We're so blessed, darling. Unbelievably blessed."

Matthew almost cringed, remembering how they almost lost this chance. The young Matthew would have pondered on a life he would have shared with Lavinia and the existence Mary would have journeyed beside Richard Carlisle. On the earlier days of their marriage, it almost felt surreal to feel Mary's slender form against him, her face accented by the morning light. In his nightmares, he would wake up in a place where he was left forgotten in the war, in a place without Mary.

He can never be without her.

"And we deserve it," Matthew replied. "I believe we deserve every bit of happiness we have received."

Just like during their wedding night, Mary captured his lips as he carried her back to their bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: Don't own Downton Abbey. If I do, Matthew wouldn't have died. All hail the rightful heir.**

_You readers are such a dear. To everyone who's read the previous prompt, thank you._

_This prompt aims to delve more into Anna's insights about M/M. (Also, I need an excuse to use the line Matthew said to Mary at the train station that sent me in tears the first time I watched the scene. My heart.) Set between S1 finale and S2._

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**Prompt: "Our greatest need is to be forgiven." - Anonymous**

Mary kept a box of letters under her bed.

Anna accidentally found it a few months after the war broke. It was purely by accident that she discovered the intricately carved vessel. Mary's presence was requested by the Dowager Countess, leaving the young ladyship on a rush. Her grandmother has been quite melancholic these days; being left at the Dower House and receiving such depressing news from her servants has brought the matriarch to a gloom. These days, the Dowager Countess frequented Downton Abbey, stirring the household to life even with the impending doom casted by the crisis the continent was facing.

Anna was dusting her ladyship's room when she found it. She would not have pried if the thing wasn't left open, the most recent entry resting atop the old, stacked ones.

Her eyes instinctively scanned the first lines: _Dear Matthew, Downton has been so different without your light. The days have been shrouded with uncertainty and grief as missive upon missive of—_

Every assumption about her ladyship's sleepless nights and muted appetite came together. Of the three Crawley daughters, Lady Mary was infamous in the staff for her ruthlessness and nonchalance. All of them but Mr. Carson and Anna missed how she holds her world together – the world that began to crumble the moment she rejected Matthew Crawley's proposal.

_Every night, I desperately pray that you will be safe. I am quite a selfish creature, Cousin Matthew. I pray for your forgiveness, for I know I have hurt you with my choices. I pray that you will be home with us, in Downton._

_I need you to come back to me._

Fingers deftly folded the note. Anna tucked it back to the box properly, placing it on its former spot. Those were her ladyship's most secret thoughts, and she had no right to know of them.

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Anna's heart broke for her ladyship when she heard Lady Edith tell them about Matthew visiting Downton with his fiancée.

Mary's face was hidden by her gloves, but as Anna placed her hand on her ladyship's shoulder, she felt the tremors under the palm of her hand. She has worked for the Crawleys for the longest time, yet it was the first time she saw Mary cry since the war started. Her ladyship has become her friend, having confided to each other opinions and secrets about their quiet lives, and she understood her reasons for not accepting Mr. Crawley. Some might say she deserved to lose him, but not Anna.

Even if Mary's heart was hers to give, she still is the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, and with such position comes a responsibility to uphold her family above all else, even if it meant sacrificing her happiness.

It didn't surprise Anna that Mary transformed to the perfect hostess only a few moments after she dried her tears. Her ladyship would always be the perfect lady, after all.

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When Mary returned to her room after her quick visit to the train station, Anna was waiting for her. A look of wistfulness masked her ladyship's features as she sat by her reading chair.

"Was your short trip satisfactory, my lady?" Anna broke the silence that enveloped the room.

Mary turned to her, a small smile gracing her features, yet her red-rimmed eyes betrayed the inner turmoil she was experiencing. "It was."

"Then I shall leave you to rest more," Anna bowed slightly, moving towards the door.

"Anna?" Mary called, her eyes still gazing far-away.

Anna stopped, "Yes, my lady?"

"He told me I'm sending him off to war a happy man. Do you think it should suffice?"

Watching the hunched back of her ladyship, Anna briefly closed her eyes. She thought of the time before the war, the time when the library was filled with Mary and Matthew's bantering, or their light-hearted chuckles on the bench under the ancient tree at the abbey's grounds, or the unspoken conversations their eyes conveyed.

"I think you both made each other happy, my lady, and that you should take whatever chance you will have to do so." Mary looked at her, the small smile now tearful as she nodded.

"Thank you, Anna."

Anna knew there would be a new letter in the hidden box that day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: Still, no DA for me.**

_To the readers, you're all lovely. Thank you so much! For this prompt, I did a tumblr prompt request then voila. I have always been a fan of subtlety and implications, and I hope my take on this topic will deliver. If you have prompt requests that you wish to be included here, just leave me a message in this website or in tumblr (link on profile). Enjoy!_

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**Prompt: Mary telling Matthew she is pregnant**

Mary would usually catch Matthew visiting little Sybbie's nursery after dinner.

She found it endearing – the way Matthew's hands would gently cup the back of their niece's head, his hold almost invisibly trembling but with certainty. He would slowly guide the little body closer to his chest, allowing to feel the smoothness of the infant's cheek on the pad of his fingers. He would coo to the little girl, who would then be so easily charmed by her husband, reminding Mary of how Sybil once became attracted to him after saving her life.

Everyone described their marriage to be ideal, a plan that took long enough to be executed. They are two stubborn people after all, striving to maintain their autonomy even with their social standing. Others would say it was luck for them to have the chance for their feelings to develop, no matter how much they've inflicted pain on each other. Some had not even believed of their love until they witnessed the couple together.

They missed everything that made their relationship worth all the obstacles they hurdled.

With the possibility of complications after Matthew's former injury, the apprehension on being able to produce an heir for Downton has become an elephant in the room whenever their conversations swayed towards its direction, only to discover that it was Mary who has difficulty conceiving. Mary remained hopeful that they would have a child after her minor operation, and it wasn't simply because of their familial obligations. Throughout the years, she has seen Matthew slowly inch to becoming the heart of Downton, saving the people who are a part of it and changing their lives for the better. He battled the prejudices that came with his former life and the challenges he had to overcome upon entering their world. He mustered the courage he had to hold to fight war and to deal with the sacrifices he had to make for his family and for love.

At times, Mary doesn't feel deserving of Matthew. He is a beacon of salvation. He is her saving grace. He changed her, recognized her scars as a part of her uniqueness, and loved every part of her.

_How is it possible to love someone so much that it overcomes you?_

Mary silently pushed the door and entered the room. Matthew paused from cooing at Sybbie, watching her approach. Blue eyes shone in surprise.

"I hope you haven't heard me making animal sounds to Sybbie," Matthew teased, carefully placing the baby down the bassinet.

"You are a delightful storyteller, darling," Mary teased back, fussing on Sybbie's blanket.

As she rose to stand properly, Matthew circled his arms around her waist, resting his chin against her bare shoulder. Mary felt a shiver run down her spine as Matthew's breath brushed her clavicle.

"I heard from mother that you visited them at the hospital today. Is something the matter?" Matthew murmured, swaying them slightly as he hummed an unfamiliar song.

Mary fought the reflex to stiffen, "I just needed to stretch my legs. Besides, your mother is a good company."

"I'm glad you get along well. Your wit reminds me of Cousin Violet's sometimes. It's unnerving," she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Don't let her hear that," Mary replied with fake reprimand. "Actually, your mother generously shared some of your childhood photos with me. I should have met you way before we had met; you were quite a dashing little boy, dear," Mary laughed.

"I was very charming, wasn't I?"

"Certainly more charming than Patrick."

"Don't mock the missing, or the dead," the old Matthew would have been offended, but he already caught on Mary's uninhibited humor.

Mary simply shrugged, pressing herself back to her husband. She entwined her fingers to his, leading their hands down her abdomen. "I want a little boy like you."

Matthew's body slightly tensed. He swallowed. "Maybe we will," Matthew replied after a long pause.

Mary let their hands wound protectively at her center. "We are."

Slowly, the hands she held retracted from her clasp and moved to her side, turning her body so that she faced him. Mary kept her eyes on the floor, unsure of what to anticipate. The issue of bearing children has been a very delicate case for both of them. She wouldn't have said it if she had not been sure.

"Mary?"

Brown eyes lifted, searching the glazed blue. Slowly, a tear fell from Matthew's eye, tracing down his cheek. His mouth remained open in shock, transforming to a smile that trembled.

"Thank you," he croaked.

Mary wove her hand to his golden tresses as Matthew knelt down, holding her against him. His face was against her womb, and the blue-eyed man dropped a kiss on her silk-covered abdomen. She supported his head as he continued to hold her, whispering his gratitude over and over again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: My name isn't Julian Fellowes. Too bad.**

_So much love for everyone who's read the previous chapters! Ahh, my dears, you are lovely! Now, for this prompt, I've got this stuck on my boundless folder for weeks already. I just haven't gotten the time to read through it again because classes have already resumed. To those who've waited, thank you for your patience! _

_Enjoy!_

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**Prompt: when one loves more than the other**

The first time Lavinia Swire saw Matthew Crawley, she knew she wanted him.

He walked into her life when he stepped into their house, unassuming in his demeanor yet determined in his stance. Matthew was talking to one of her father's associates, his voice warm honey to her ears. Unabashedly, she studied his features, and was curious about the wornness evident in his muted smiles and his slackened expression. When he looked up to her, she drowned in blue lagoons as he politely acknowledged her, a hand extended.

She wondered how someone could wear sadness so beautifully.

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Matthew spent most of his time away from training in London. Lavinia was curious, knowing from the conversation the first night they met that he lived elsewhere. Matthew was quite congenial and conversant, which heightened her interest more. He talked to her about his mother, his work as a solicitor, the life he had in the city and his move in Downton. She, in return, entertained him with her adventures as a child, growing as the only daughter of her renowned father, the governesses she had, and her interests.

Despite the openness, Lavinia felt that she's missing on something.

Once, she caught him in the library, browsing the shelves. He stood with her back on her, hands clasped behind him. Sunlight streamed from the window, casting Matthew in ethereal glow.

She reminded him of a fallen angel.

Matthew reached for one of the books. He cradled the leather-bound tome in his hands, fingers flipping the pages carefully. He began walking towards the closest seat. He was scanning the pages when something caught his eye.

It was the first time he saw the smile genuinely.

"Matthew?" Lavinia called, almost reprimanding herself for not being able to hold her tongue. The smile quickly dissolved from his lips. She sighed inwardly, and instead just letting this be. "What are you reading?"

Matthew looked down at the book again, his face regaining a hint of nostalgia. She would have missed it if she weren't observing him keenly. "The story of Perseus and Andromeda. One of my cousins from Downton – Mary, that is – reminded me of it during my first dinner at Downton. She was surprised that I had read the story, and was quite adamant on me being the sea monster that night." He ended his explanation with a chuckle.

Lavinia smiled politely, but the gears in her head whirred on overdrive. "What warranted such a reaction?"

"She's the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, and was engaged to be married to the late Patrick Crawley, who was supposed to inherit the title and estate. He died when Titanic sank. Let's just say I'm the complication she dreaded," bitterness laced his last statement.

"Was she cruel to you?"

"At first, one might say yes. But that's Mary for you," he spoke of her name with such affection. "She's layer after layer of sarcasm and irritability. She'll even tell you she's heartless. In reality, Mary is very loyal, caring, and protective, but she has enough self-preservation to keep her head afloat. She's very interesting to talk to, because she could push my buttons just as much as I could push hers."

If someone spoke of such reverence about Lavinia, she reckoned she would be bawling in such gratitude and love already.

"You must love her dearly," she voiced out the unspoken truth.

Matthew's eyes glazed. "I did," he whispered, "but I cannot anymore."

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Matthew was off as soon as he finished his training, and he was sent to the trenches sooner than Lavinia could blink.

They continued corresponding to each other, letters exchanged almost every month. In the span of time they wrote to each other, she coaxed Matthew to speak more about his life in Downton. It didn't come as a surprise that Mary was entwined to almost every story he shared. Lavinia was glad that Matthew trusted her enough with his thoughts. She has to learn about Mary if she wanted to crack the code that was Matthew Crawley.

Lavinia was aware that her feelings for the man were growing. She allowed herself to be taken by the haze. Her efforts had not been in vain, though. After a year, Lavinia and Matthew shared a kiss as she bid him goodbye during one of his stays in London. Upon his next visit, he proposed to her, and she said yes.

One time, Matthew wrote to her about visiting Downton during one of his tours. He wrote that he wanted to introduce her to his family, to which she agreed. After all, it would only be fair for her to let the Crawleys into her life.

She could not shake the sinking feeling at the thought of meeting Mary Crawley, though.

* * *

When she saw them – black and red, brown and blonde, the clash of land and sea – they're beautiful. They stole gazes from each other, Mary more than Matthew, but he returned it with the same intensity. Lavinia looked at them, and something broke inside her.

The first time Lavinia Swire saw Matthew and Mary Crawley together, she was well-aware that she couldn't compare.


End file.
